His steps slowed. He felt her presence long before she reached him—a rush of energy that made the very air stir. “Jules, do not be afraid of me.”
He spun to confront her. “I am afraid of nothing, least of all you.” He did not keep the steel from his voice. He wanted to scare her, to do anything that would give him back his resolve.
Her lips formed a word, then she stopped, froze, her eyes widening.
He frowned, then turned and followed her gaze to find Jane, Margaret, Nicholas, Hollister, David, Fin, and two other women staring at them. Supremely aware of the curious gazes that took in their wet clothing and disheveled appearances, Jules swallowed a curse and said, “We went fishing,” as though the words would explain all, then continued on toward the house.
“Then where are the fish?” Hollister laughed in response.
“Shh,” Margaret admonished, and that was all Jules heard as he moved out of earshot and hopefully out of their sight. As host, he knew it was wrong to abandon Claire, leaving her alone to face the questions his friends would no doubt press upon her, but at the moment he could do nothing else.
He was free of Claire for the moment. But he didn’t feel free. Her scent was on his shirt, his skin, and he felt as if his hands were still on her body. He moved quickly toward the manor and the master’s chambers. At least there he was safe from her, and there he would scrub his skin until no hint of her remained.
But the memory would remain, the memory of the way she looked, the way she felt . . . Damnation, he was hardening again at the thought. Coupling with her was supposed to mean nothing.
Nothing.
He drew a harsh breath as he shut the chamber door behind him. It was up to him to see that it did.
Claire felt her cheeks flame red as eight pairs of eyes inspected her. Jules’s friends, his steward, and most likely the new servants they had hired, inspected her from head to toe.
“Claire,” Jane said, stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you well?”
Claire smiled and nodded. “I went fishing on my own in a boat that leaked. Jules rescued me when it sank.” The shortened version of what had happened brought nods of understanding from the men, but Jane and Margaret continued to study her, searching for what they did not know.
“Are you hurt?” Margaret asked.
Yes. “No,” Claire replied, with a sudden shiver as the dampness of her clothes suddenly pierced her senses.
Margaret held out her arms. “Come.” Claire hesitated, but Margaret stepped forward until she enfolded Claire in her arms.
Claire accepted the woman’s compassion as she buried her face in Margaret’s shoulder. Claire could feel her throat tighten and the warmth of tears in her eyes, but she forced them back. She had to stay strong.
Margaret stroked her hair. “Let us get you back to the manor and out of those wet clothes.”
Claire nodded, allowing the older woman to support her as they walked back toward Jules’s home. She felt the apprehension in the air and knew the others were watching her, waiting to see what she said or did to give them more insight into what had happened at the loch.
Deliberately she recalled the image of Jules gazing down at her after their joining, the way his eyes had filled with pleasure and wonder. That moment gave her strength and once again reminded her of her purpose. She straightened, no longer leaning on Margaret for support.
Jules had run away from her. He had said their coupling would mean nothing to him. In that he had been wrong. It meant something, to be sure. If anything, it was a sign she was making progress in her efforts to engage his affections. Yet she had to keep a rein on her own—she had to separate herself, body and mind, from the man who had awakened the most intense pleasure she had ever known.
She had to stay strong, do what must be done, then walk away without a second glance.
After washing in the basin, Claire needed something to clear her mind and help her forget the moments she had spent in Jules’s arms. Her fingers reached for a paintbrush. She knew she could not risk going to the ballroom with everyone home and awake.
With a sigh, Claire sat on the sagging bed in the center of the room and tipped her head back. She smiled. Jules had purposely placed her in the most dilapidated, most frightening room in the manor. But just like the chamber on the opposite side of the house, this room had character and exceptionally good structure. A little paint, a little love, and the room would be transformed.
It wasn’t until several hours later of painting a garden scene on the wall near her bed that Claire noticed the light had faded to a pinkish gray. Dusk.
Dusk. Had she been hidden away in her chamber this entire time? Claire hurriedly cleaned her brushes and her fingers, then opened the shutters to air out the room. As soon as she was certain all was concealed and the astringent fumes of turpentine and paint would blend with the usual scent of mustiness and crumbling plaster, she fled from her room and hurried down the stone stairs, anxious to join the others.
“Milady, Lady MacIntyre, Claire.”
The voice pierced her distraction. She looked up to find David standing in the middle of the hallway, most likely outside his own chamber door.
“Sir David,” she said. “I did not expect to see you.”
He had been leaning against the wall, she realized, waiting for her. He pushed away from the wall to join her. “I simply wanted to make certain you were well after the ordeal.” The intensity of his tone startled her.
“The loch?” Claire stared at him in surprise.
“Nay.” David took her elbow and escorted her down the hallway toward the main stairs. “Jules told me all about it. Are you certain you are well?”
Claire stopped moving as ice infused her veins. Jules told him all about their lovemaking? Her vision blurred, and she reached out for the wall to support her. “He told you?” she whispered. Those stolen moments had been their private world, their bliss.
“Yes.” Concern tightened the corners of his eyes as he studied her face. “It could not have been easy to learn of James Grayson’s murder when we were all anxiously awaiting his arrival.”
His murder. The horror of the man’s demise reverberated through her, as did relief. David was talking about the man’s unfortunate demise, not what had transpired between herself and Jules. She released a stuttering breath.
David mistook her relief for grief. His hand tightened on her elbow. “Do you need to sit down?”
Claire uttered a silent prayer for her good fortune that David had been more intrigued by poor Mr. Grayson’s death than by what she and Jules had been doing down by the loch, or even by the smell of paint lingering in the hallway. “I am feeling much better than a moment ago, I assure you.”
“That is well, because there are other things that need to be discussed.” David’s brown eyes were concerned beneath the dark swath of his brows. His expression was sincere and intense. He leaned closer, his voice lowered. “There are things you need to understand about your husband. I think you should hear them now.”
They walked down the stairs. No one was around, not even the two women from the village who had come to clean. And yet, David turned toward the door leading outside. “It is best if we talk out here.”
She allowed him to lead her out into the courtyard. The sky had turned a pale pink with streaks of burnished red clouds. Night would be upon them shortly, but David walked her through the knee-high grass to what looked like it had once been a rose garden. Now all that remained were tall stalks of gray and the occasional age-darkened rosehip.
Claire frowned as they walked along a cobbled path overgrown with weeds. This garden had been beautiful once. Perhaps with some love and attention it could be again. She tucked the thought away and turned to her escort. “What is so important that we had to discuss it out here?”
“Jules has been through many hardships in his life,” David began as he released her arm and stood before her.
“If you are speaking of his time in gaol, I
know about that already.”
“’Twas Jane who saved his life, though she was unable to gain his release from gaol.” David’s lips thinned as he studied Claire.
“Who released him?” Claire asked.
“All his friends have wondered the same thing. We had hoped that someone was you,” he asked with an arched brow.
Claire shook her head.
David’s face grew solemn. “I was so certain it was you.”
“It must have been horrible for him, waiting to be freed, wondering if anyone would ever come. I am grateful to whomever did release him,” Claire said as a shiver trailed across the nape of her neck. “The darkness, the filth, the loss of hope, the pain . . . how had he endured all that for so long and survived?”
“Not many men would have.” David hesitated as though trying to find the right words. “Jules has suffered greatly, and all of his friends mean to keep any future suffering to a minimum. That is why we are all here with him now, why we will be nearby always.” His voice lowered, his expression hardened.
Claire startled. “Do you think I—”
“If you hurt him, Claire, if you hurt him at all, you will have to answer to us,” David threatened.
The words surprised her, disturbed her. Regardless, she found her voice. “I will hurt him, David,” she admitted. “Over the course of a lifetime, I will do something that will displease him. It’s inevitable.”
His gaze sharpened. “You know what I mean, not the everyday we-are-partners-in-life hurts. The kind of betrayal that leaves a person raw.”
She nodded. She understood that feeling all too well. She knew what it was like to be moving along in one’s life, only to find in the next heartbeat that everything you ever knew was gone.
Claire turned away from David’s probing gaze. She felt as if she were falling into a deep, dark hole. She couldn’t reach out, couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart hammered in her chest at the knowledge that she would hurt Jules in the end. But she would be wounded as well, knowing she would never again experience the kind of passion she had shared with him earlier. They would both be raw when all of this was over. But Jules would survive with the help of his friends.
Claire’s throat tightened. She would have her girls.
“Milady?” David’s voice broke into her thoughts. Claire turned back around and looked up at Jules’s friend, at his long, drawn face, his uncertain expression. “If my words upset you, I apologize. I simply wanted you to know we are here to support him.”
“Thank you, David. I appreciate your honesty.” She forced a bright smile despite the fact that her soul felt as though it was slowly being ripped in half.
Jules watched Claire enter the newly furnished green salon with David. She was laughing at something he said, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes sparkled, framed by tendrils of her over-bright hair that had worked their way free from her chignon to cradle her cheeks.
She seemed different—happier, definitely more relaxed, but also with a hint of sorrow in her eyes. Puzzled by the mixture, Jules watched her as David, the youngest male among them, led her to the newly acquired settee, then sat down beside her. She never stopped talking to David, who listened intently to her every word, his dark eyes unusually bright.
Something had happened between them, Jules thought, watching the couple discreetly while pretending to listen to what Jane said about all the new furniture they had purchased in the village. Something had forged a friendship between the two of them, or was it something more? Perhaps David desired Claire . . .
She was his wife.
Jules frowned at the thought. When had he started to think of her as such? It was ridiculous, and yet there was no denying the tension that tightened his hands or the pulse of jealousy that warmed his blood at the way David’s gaze lingered not on Claire’s eyes, but on the swell of her breasts, rising above her tight bodice.
Jules’s blood raced hot and furious through his veins. Before he knew what he was doing, he apologized to Jane, stood, then strode across the room.
“Claire,” he demanded, feeling the harshness of his voice echo in the thrumming of his blood.
Her conversation with David ceased. Her gaze shot to his, following his every move as he came closer and held out his hand. Her brow rose in question.
“Come with me to the cellar. We must select wine for supper tonight.” He knew there was very little wine left in the barrels, yet he had to do something to get her away from David.
With an apologetic smile at David, she accepted Jules’s hand and rose. He could not say why it angered him that she was speaking with David, but it did. And even more infuriating was the way in which she lifted her chin, met his gaze, and his challenge.
He had wanted to ignore her, to force her out of his life as rapidly as she had come into it. Yet there was something about her that was impossible to ignore. Her innocence disarmed him. Her calm determination defeated him at every turn.
He drew a stuttering breath, trying to calm his racing heart. No one had ever affected him like this, not even Jane. With Jane, he had been attracted to her beauty, her sweetness, her compassion, but their relationship had always been one of discussion and deep thought.
He and Jane had never kissed. And if truth be told, he realized now that from the time he had been thirteen years old, he’d set Jane on a pedestal of perfection that not even she could achieve. He had turned her into an untouchable goddess, and the culmination of all his dreams.
Jules frowned. With Claire, his responses were visceral, deep, anguishing. She tempted him as he had never been tempted before. Slowly, he could feel her breaking down the barriers he had built around himself, feel her piercing through the numbness he had allowed to wrap around his heart. He had learned in gaol to distance himself from feelings. It had been the only way to maintain his sanity at the time.
Why was she trying so hard to get close to him? He had nothing to offer her except poverty, disappointment, and debt. She could never be his. It would be better for them both if he ended this charade now.
He pushed the cellar door open, lit a torch, then turned to face her. He could feel his blood pounding through his veins, but it had quickly changed from anger. He stared at her moist, full lips. With just a look he remembered their taste. He could feel her softness beneath his palms. Damnation, how he craved her.
“Before I tell the others, I wanted you to know I am leaving,” he said, resisting the urge to touch her hair, her cheek.
“You’re leaving?” she looked at him with such grief in her eyes he had to look away.
“Not forever,” he clarified. “Since Grayson cannot come to us, I must go to Edinburgh to find the proof of our marriage. The church or the solicitor will have documents, if any truly exist. St. Giles, you said?”
“Yes.” She released a soft sigh. “You won’t send that young messenger back to Edinburgh?”
Jules brought his gaze back to hers. “I’ll not risk Joseph’s life for something that should clearly fall on my shoulders. Besides, I have business to conduct in town as well.”
She moved toward him. “Jules . . .”
“We need wine for supper.” He dodged her touch and went to the wine barrels lining the right side of the cellar; whiskey barrels lined the left. He reached for a wooden pitcher, made certain it didn’t contain dust or debris, then opened the spigot. Nothing came out. He tipped the barrel and was rewarded for his efforts with a thin stream of pungent wine.
“I could go with you,” she said, her voice quiet yet hopeful.
“No, this is something I must do alone. Look after our guests.” He had meant to say his friends, but had changed his words at the last moment in order to include her in his life, at least in some small way. He shook his head, trying to clear her from his thoughts. He had to stay focused on that one task.
“When do you leave?”
“First light.” He averted her gaze, fighting the urge to scoop her into his arms and carry her to his room, then spe
nd the entire night exploring every inch of her body with his lips, his hands, and his mouth. What was it about her that made him lose his focus time and again?
He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, Claire stopped him with a gentle hand to his shoulder. He twisted toward her. Before he knew what she was doing, she kissed him on the cheek and clasped his hand.
“Be safe on your travels.”
He inclined his head.
Leave. The thought pounded through his brain. Because if he didn’t, he might yield to the demanding need inside him.
She released his fingers and he felt the loss of her.
At the door, he turned to look at her. Concern and sorrow reflected in her golden eyes.
Stunned, he could do nothing more than blink as he forced his feet to move in the opposite direction. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had been sad to see him go.
An hour later, ensconced in his study, Jules studied the ring Claire had said his solicitor had given her. He still couldn’t make sense of how his mother’s ring had resurfaced after all these years. He was positive his father had buried it with his mother. Had someone opened her grave?
Jules groaned. Nothing about Claire, their supposed marriage, or Grayson’s betrayal and his death made any sense. Yet there had to be a link. What was he overlooking?
Fin appeared at the door and cleared his throat before shuffling into the chamber. “Milord, I apologize fer the interruption, but he wouldn’t take no fer an answer, despite the late hour.”
“What is it?” Jules asked with a frown as he returned the ring to his waistcoat. Lord, he was tired. Jules flexed his shoulders to rid himself of tension, then stood, moving toward his faithful servant. Before he could address Fin further, a young man burst into the room.
“Lord Kildare.”
Jules frowned at the young, blond-haired man, instantly recognizing not his face but his purpose. He had hoped to keep the debt collectors at bay a while longer. “It’s all right, Fin. You can leave us.”
Fin backed out of the doorway, leaving the two of them alone. Jules waited until the door closed behind him, then said with great precision, “You’re the debt collector Fin told me about. You’ve been living in our boathouse. I should evict you from the premises.”
Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine Page 10